120 days...

by Stratton, M.

  The tears he’d never allowed to have power over him, for all those months, finally broke loose and ran down his cheeks. He was truly, for the first time in his life, alone in the world. There was no one to share the grief with.

  With the back of his hand, he wiped at his eyes. He didn’t have time for the emotion, he had an appointment to get to, and there was no putting it off any longer.

  Getting in his car, he clutched his brother’s journal in his hands before carefully placing it on the seat next to him. This was all he had left. He’d skimmed through it up in the lawyer’s office. His brother had documented his death journey, and Ethan’s plan was to read it.

  Day 1

  Ethan-

  I’m making this journal for you, hoping you will know and understand why I had to do this. I hope this will bring you peace and closure after I’m gone.

  You are my brother, you raised me, and we’ll always be a part of each other.

  I love you,

  Evan

  Ethan’s red-rimmed eyes took in the rising sun the following morning. He’d spent all night reading about his brother’s last eighty-three days alive. On paper, he sounded like he was as happy as someone dying from cancer could be; though, he had to wonder about this ranch, this Last Resort. Exactly what was it, and what was their deal, their scam? No way could they do everything they did. It had to be too good to be true. He knew Evan had a list of charities he gave his money to. He wondered exactly how much went to Last Resort. He wanted to call the lawyer to see exactly when Evan had changed his will, and was it during his stay at Last Resort, or before he went up there, but it was too early to make the call. He made a quick note to call him in a few hours.

  Needing to be proactive, he started doing his own research on Last Resort. On the surface, everything looked on the up-and-up, but there was no way a place like that existed only to help people. There had to be more to it. They had to be in it for the money. His mind whirled with all the different ways they would be scamming dying people out of their life-savings.

  Leaning back in his chair, he thought. Since everyone there was dying, it wouldn’t be hard to make them feel like they were given everything they wanted, but in reality, were they? The news was filled with stories of nursing home or caregiver abuse and money disappearing. This would be no different. He remembered back to the time after his parents had died and the neighborhood they’d lived in, the only one they could afford. Everyone was running one scam or another. You learned pretty quick how to read people and know when they were flat out lying or only stretching the truth.

  He paced around the room, trying to think of what his next move should be. Something was pulling him toward the place where his brother died. He needed answers and he knew the only way to get them was to go there himself and ask. There was no way he was going to rely on someone else’s information, open to interpretation.

  Knowing his instincts would be valuable in this situation, he needed to figure out exactly how he was going to play it. He’d learned years earlier, you need to show a certain amount of cards to make the other person feel at ease, like there was no way you could be lying to them. You gave less information than you took from them and you showed no mercy. That was how he’d built his wealth.

  He walked back to his laptop and clicked on the Job Opportunity section of their website. They were hiring for a few different positions. He wasn’t qualified to be a nurse or a chef, but the general caregiver description sounded like something he could do. They needed someone who could drive the guests around, help with planned activities, spend time with the guests and do some light maintenance around the place.

  Stopping, he snapped his fingers and knew just what to do. Going into his room, he started to pack clothes, ones he didn’t often wear. Jeans and t-shirts replaced his suits, which cost thousands of dollars. Boots replaced Italian loafers. As luck would have it, Last Resort was looking for a new employee, and he was going to be it. This way, he’d be able to see firsthand where his brother spent his final days and find out exactly what kind of scam the owner was working.

  Samantha Truman looked out the window at the sunrise, said a silent prayer, and gave Elizabeth Munns’ hand a squeeze before setting it gently down on the bed. She knew Elizabeth couldn’t feel anything anymore; she was gone, but she still deserved to be treated with dignity. The melanoma took this sweet twenty-year-old’s life, and it broke Sam’s heart.

  Carefully and systematically, she went through her checklist, knowing what to do, when to do it, and how to do it by heart. When everything was as it should be, she sat down in the chair and picked up Elizabeth’s hand again and held it while waiting for the coroner to arrive.

  This had been an especially hard week on her, this loss, so close to the last, was always difficult. Elizabeth had made it one-hundred-and-seventy-six days, better than the average, but that still didn’t change the outcome. The outcome was whomever showed up at the Last Resort, died at Last Resort.

  It was a sad fact of life that so many people ended up with a terminal disease and had no family to depend on, no one to be there for them during their final days. Or they had family, but didn’t want to burden them with the end. Last Resort was here for them, a place where they could go to fulfill their last wishes and be surrounded by people who were just like them. She had activities planned everyday based on what her current residents wanted to do. Anything from movie marathons to rock climbing, their final dreams were given to them for as long as they were physically able to participate, then they were modified to be less demanding, but still catered to what they were interested in.

  Sam had lost both of her parents to cancer within two years of each other. They had some extra money, but that didn’t help stop the disease; however, it did give her the start-up money for the Last Resort. She bought an old ranch near the coast in northern California, a short drive north from San Francisco, and set about renovating the old farmhouse and outbuildings to living quarters, which were set up for all her guests’ needs, from the time they were able to walk through the front door, to when they were wheeled out, no longer breathing.

  Once Elizabeth was attended to, Sam left the small building knowing the cleaning crew would be in later to get it ready for the next guest. That was another sad truth. There was always going to be another person ready to replace the one who’d just died. They had a waiting list. Sam was trying to figure out how to add more cabins without disrupting the current guests or losing the family feel of the place.

  Her mind flitted from one task to another, cataloging what she was going to have to do and when, trying to keep her heart from crying out. Deep down in her gut, she knew how she was supposed to spend her life, helping people, but this didn’t mean their deaths didn’t affect her. It was hard not to get attached to the people who came to her, to her resort, but she couldn’t help herself.

  They were lonely. They were sick. They were dying.

  Like all humans, they just wanted someone who was there for them, to care for them in the end, to make them feel like they mattered. Whether they were young or old, not one story was any more tragic than the other, because in the end, they were all heartbreaking.

  Walking through the grounds, she purposely steered clear of the garden. She couldn’t go there at the moment. She also made sure she took the long way back to her office, hoping not to run into anyone. All she wanted was a good thirty minutes alone when she could cry and grieve for Elizabeth before carrying on with the rest of her day. That was all she could allow herself, any more and it would destroy her. She’d learned the hard way she couldn’t grieve as she really wanted to for each and every one of them. She wasn’t strong enough.

  Sneaking in the backdoor of her office, she sat down in her chair and spun it around to look out the big window, which faced the Pacific Ocean. She could barely see it; the marine layer was still hanging around, but Sam knew it was there. She closed her eyes and thought of Elizabeth’s spirit finally free from the pain and sickness,
flying and laughing over the ocean, dipping her fingers in the cold water as she frolicked with the whales.

  She opened up and let the grief come, which came in waves. Over and over it silently raged through her body until she was spent, leaning back in her chair with swollen and dry eyes, staring at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath, she turned her chair around to get to work and froze. A man stood in her doorway, watching her.

  Day 2

  Ethan–

  Well, I’m all settled in. You should see this place. It’s beautiful. In reality, you’re surrounded by death here, yet everyone is happy and very helpful. ‘We’re not dead yet’ is the motto.

  From the front porch of my cabin, I can just make out the ocean. I know I’m going to be spending a lot of time in the fresh air around here, maybe even go hiking since I can’t really run anymore.

  Is it strange that I feel more alive now, knowing I’m going to be dead soon, than ever before?

  Evan

  “I’m sorry, they said I could come in. If you want, I can come back later.” Ethan fidgeted from one foot to the other at the door, trying to appear non-threating.

  The lady behind the desk stood up. “No, no, it’s no problem. How can I help you?”

  “Sorry,” he smiled shyly at her, trying to remember not to be the hard as nails businessman, and held out his hand. “I’m Ethan McGregor, your newest employee.”

  “Oh, yes, Ethan.” She took his hand in hers and said, “I’m Samantha Truman, the owner. I’m sorry, it’s already been a busy morning and I forgot you were starting today. Did they already have you fill out your paperwork?”

  “Yes, ma’am, all done and turned in.”

  Sam shook her head at him and the corners of her mouth tipped up. “Please, you don’t need to call me ma’am.”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s how I was raised.” Part of him was shocked at how easily he’d slipped back into the manners his parents had taught him.

  “And that’s the third time you’ve apologized since we started talking, a lesser woman would totally take advantage of you.”

  Not sure where she was coming from, or going with that statement, Ethan decided nodding was the best course of action. The last thing he wanted was his normal arrogant self to come through. He needed to gain her trust if he was going to learn how she scammed the dying out of their money.

  Looking at her, he could see why Evan wrote so fondly of her. He wouldn’t describe her as beautiful, but she was cute, and even with her red-rimmed eyes, he could see her personality coming through, like Evan said it would. No-nonsense, get to the point, help other people to the point of getting sick herself. Ethan had always loved puzzles and he knew he was going to love putting the pieces of Ms. Truman together. The odds of her being one of those rare people who gave without ever thinking of taking were slim. He’d known plenty before his parents had died. Or she had to be a first class liar, an expert in deception, like the majority of the people he knew after their deaths. It was no longer about just finding out what she was up to; it was a mission for him. There’d be hell to pay if she took advantage of his brother.

  “Here, I’ll show you around while we talk.” She left her office and his longer legs easily kept up with her fast pace. “This is the main ranch house. All the offices and on-site staff rooms are here, along with ten rooms for the guests who prefer being near people, or have special needs. Meaning, they need to be tended to on a more regular basis.”

  They walked around the main building and she pointed to her right—the building that was attached to the main house by a breezeway. “That’s the kitchen and dining room. Each guest can either dine with everyone, or alone in their room. We even set up special picnics or events, which are scheduled or requested. Behind that are the stables, which we turned into a garage and where we keep the vehicles and golf carts.”

  “Then over there”—she pointed to her left—“is our game room, rec room, fun area. Most will hang out there at one point or another throughout the day, depending on how they are feeling. We have ten cabins back there, all within easy walking distance. Or if they are in wheelchairs, we have paved sidewalks made to blend into the landscape and treated so they don’t have to worry about slipping when it rains and guests are still able to get around. I’m in the original house, which you can see on that ridge over there.”

  He listened carefully to her as she spoke about the resort. He’d already learned all this from their website, but he was hoping for more insight into her. “How do you decide what activities you are going to do?”

  “It really all depends on the guests we have. I like to call it a menu. They can pick and choose what they want to do. We also have scheduled daily events they can come to if they wish. The maximum number of guests we can have at any time is twenty. It seems like a lot of work for so few, but it makes them happy, and even if only one person shows up, we like to make sure they have as much fun as they can, that each one is special and they deserve to be treated that way.” She looked at him. “When someone comes here, the doctors have told them there’s no hope, and they only have a handful of weeks left to live. The average number of days someone has to live before they arrive is forty. The average number of days they spend here before they die is one hundred and twenty. We feel, we know, that in the right environment, with the right attitude, people can extend how long they live, and have an amazing quality of life, even when they’ve been given a death sentence. We make sure they live what is left of their life to the best of their ability. Think about it, on average, we give someone eighty extra days of life. To me, that’s amazing. To them, it’s everything.”

  Her impassioned talk hit him in gut. He immediately thought of his brother and his last days here. Clearing his throat he said, “And this.” He pointed to a wall, which was about four-feet high and flowed around a garden.

  “That’s our Legacy Wall.” Her voice shook, but she stepped forward. “As soon as a new guest arrives, I have them create a handprint, one they can decorate however they want. As you can see, some only have their name, others have added their disease and some have taken the time to paint them. Once they are . . . gone, their handprint goes up along the wall.”

  “How long is the wall?” He tried to see around the plants to get an idea of the size for himself.

  She paused for a beat. “Too long.”

  He couldn’t stop himself. He walked over to the wall. “How do you decide who goes where?”

  “We started here.” She pointed to the first handprint near the ground. “That’s Kenneth Johnson. He was the first guest we lost after we opened. The colon cancer took him at the age of sixty-one. He’d been here for seventy-seven days. They follow around the wall, then when they get to here,”—she walked to the other side of the gate opening—“we go up one level and they wrap back around to the beginning, and so on.”

  “Wow, you have four full rows.” He tried to wrap his head around the fact that so many people had died at the resort. They’d taken care of them, and maybe milked them out of their lifesavings while they were at it, he speculated.

  “We’ve started on the inside.” She walked through the gate and showed him the additional two rows.

  “So many people.”

  “Too many.”

  He found the last handprint and looked at it. It had today’s date on it. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her take a deep breath and look down as she scuffed her shoe in the dirt. Walking a few feet, he didn’t have to go far to find Evan’s handprint. Crouching down, he placed his hand in his brother’s. Evan’s had always been a little smaller, but he was surprised how much wider his own fingers were compared to Evan’s. The sickness had already taken so much from him before he’d even arrived. His brother created this before he died. Ethan wasn’t sure how he was going to have the strength to get through his time at the resort. His heart ached for what he’d lost, and coming face to face with so many handprints, he wasn’t the only one.

  The stones behind hi
m were kicked and he knew she approached him. Letting his hand drop, he bowed his head and hoped for strength.

  “We recently lost Evan McGregor, is he a relative of yours?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes. My brother.”

  She placed her hand briefly on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. He was a very good man.”

  He didn’t want her touching him, giving him comfort. His reason for being there was to find out if she was taking advantage of the dying. “Yes, he was. He was the best.” He had to keep focused on his brother, and giving her that little bit of information was his way of ultimately making her less suspicious of him.

  Taking a step back, she scowled at him and her body tensed. “Why are you here? Why did you apply for a job? I don’t understand. I don’t recall anything on your application stating you had a relative who’d died here.” Confusion and anger filled her voice.

  He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. He’d already prepared his answer, knowing these questions would be coming at some point. Wanting to get them out of the way, he tipped his hand early. “When Evan was diagnosed with the cancer, he didn’t want me to drop everything to take care of him, again. I’m seven years older than him and when our parents died, when I was nineteen, I put my education on hold so I could get a job and raised him.”

  “He was very lucky, a lot of people wouldn’t do that.” Her body relaxed a little bit, but she still seemed on guard.

  Deciding to give her a little bit more, he continued. “All we had was each other.” He shrugged. “It was the only thing I could do. Anyway, he didn’t want me to remember him sick and dying. He wanted me to remember everything else. Well, as you know, he died recently. After I was notified, I had an appointment with his lawyer, who gave me Evan’s journal. I started reading it. The way he talked about this place . . .” He turned to look at her. “Really, it’s remarkable what you do for them. Something pulled me here. I applied here, got the job, and here I am.”